


Carry You Home

by Khiori63



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Artwork "Treasure Island" by Khiori, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiori63/pseuds/Khiori63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a year since Kirk and Spock mysteriously vanished.  When they are finally found, Kirk's old friend Commodore Wesley soon realizes that rescuing them would not be easy.  Not easy at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry You Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Домой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131308) by [Chmonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chmonder/pseuds/Chmonder)



_"There is nothing so strong as gentleness; nothing so gentle as real strength."_ _Frances de Sales_

“I’m telling you, it’s not going to work.” 

A sudden silence filled the room as Wesley’s statement was met with looks of incredulity and skepticism.  He could almost hear the unspoken thoughts of the others… _“Commodore or no, who the hell does he think he is, questioning our tactics?  We know best how to do our jobs, not him.”_ He ignored them all as his gaze focused on the tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the center of the room.  Commander Rennick, leader of Starfleet’s Elite Special Forces, gave him a thoughtful look, then, “Explain.”

Wesley breathed a silent sigh of relief.  He was aware how easily he could have been denied the chance to point out exactly why the plan laid out by Rennick and his team was so very, very wrong.  After all, he wasn’t the one in charge.  Much as he’d like to be.

He waved a hand at the view screen.  The image it projected was nothing short of disturbing.  “Look at him, Commander, and tell me, what do you see?”

Rennick’s eyes shifted to the screen, but Wesley chose to keep his own gaze averted.  He’d already seen enough of what the real time-footage displayed and it was certainly not something he would soon forget.  Especially since the subject matter was someone who was not only a fellow officer, but also a close friend.  A friend whose shuttle disappeared eight months ago while on assignment to ferry an ambassador to Zaran II in order to secure a peace treaty between two warring factions on the planet.

While the fate of the ambassador remained a mystery, not so the two Starfleet officers assigned to accompany him.  Just one week ago an exhaustive search revealed said officers were being held captive on Maranga IV, a Klingon outpost just beyond the edge of the Neutral Zone.  The Lexington was immediately ordered to the area to attempt what would no doubt be a difficult and dangerous rescue.  So dangerous, in fact, that they had taken aboard the top team of the Federation’s Special Forces unit to plan and carry out the same. 

While Wesley and his command crew were free to offer advice and suggestions, Starfleet made it clear that Rennick had the final say in exactly how they would go about retrieving the two captive officers.  Thus far, Wesley had to admit, the commander and his men were doing a damn good job.  Less than two hours after achieving orbit, the ship’s presence shielded by the cloaking device now standard on all constitution class starships, the team had pinpointed the structure where the two officers were being held. Quickly and efficiently, they infiltrated said structure and dispatched all the Klingons inside.  Now, along with Wesley, they occupied the main control room which, among other things, had a live video feed to the numerous cells located underground.  All of those cells were now empty save one, the occupants they once held successfully removed by the Special Forces team via a simple but very productive method.  A colorless, odorless gas was pumped into each cell, rendering those exposed unconscious within a short period of time, thus enabling the team to remove the now-insensate prisoners quickly and efficiently.  It was, without a doubt, a sound and imminently practical plan that allowed the team to complete their task with no risk of injury to themselves or the now-former captives, who, at this moment, were recovering from their ordeal and receiving any and all necessary treatment in the Lexington’s Sickbay.

But Wesley knew that what had worked for the others was doomed to failure now.  His only hope to prevent a catastrophe was to convince Rennick to find another way.

His eyes once again shifted to the screen, his gaze falling on the two beings that all along had been the main focus of this mission.

The first, Commander Spock of the Starship Enterprise, lay unmoving at the back of the small, barren cell.  He was curled in a loose foetal position, his back to the camera.  His head rested on a gold command tunic, with only the tip of an ear and a black cap of dirty, matted hair visible under the tattered, filthy blanket that was carefully tucked over and around him.  One pale hand lay near his face, fingers curled toward the palm.  A green-stained strip of gold material surrounded the wrist, a makeshift bandage fashioned from the same tunic that had been pressed into service as what was clearly a poor substitute for a pillow.  Still, it was better than nothing.  After all, the Klingons certainly weren’t concerned about keeping their prisoners in any state of luxury.

Try as he might, Wesley could not detect any movement at all in the still form, could find no visual evidence the commander was still alive.  Only the scan for life signs that had been performed earlier provided reassurance that there were not one, but two living beings in the cell.  For that Wesley felt a tremendous sense of relief.  The last thing he wanted was for them to have come all this way and make all this effort just to retrieve a corpse.  Actually, two corpses.  For there was no doubt in Wesley’s mind that had the commander perished, his companion would have quickly followed suit, either by his own hands or the Klingons.  Without the need to protect and guard and care for his charge, he would have no reason for his own continued existence.  

It was why Wesley was so driven to convince Rennick and his team that when it came to this particular rescue, they _had_ to go about it a different way.  Gassing these two particular captives, no matter how well-intended, could only spell disaster and quite likely result in the meaningless death of two of the finest officers in the Fleet.

His gaze shifted to the second occupant, who, although clearly in much better shape, still presented an equally disturbing sight. 

Captain James T. Kirk, also of the Starship Enterprise, was planted firmly between his immobile first officer and the single entrance to the cell.  He was crouched low, balanced on his heels, rocking back and forth in a steady, ceaseless rhythm, his eyes never shifting from the heavy steel door barring his freedom.   His feet were bare, his only clothing his Fleet-issued pants and undershirt.  His right arm was pressed tightly against his side, indicating possible bruised, perhaps broken ribs.  Dried blood was apparent over his knuckles, a clear sign he’d been involved in at least one altercation with his captors.  Bands of severely bruised and discolored flesh encircled his wrists and ankles, a result of spending hours, perhaps days, in too-tight manacles.  His face bore more evidence of harsh treatment - a healing cut on his temple left tracks of dried blood trailing down his face, his nose was misshapen, and his left eye was completely swollen shut.

He looked hurt and exhausted and utterly _terrifying._ His nostrils flared constantly, as if scenting the air, his left hand was clenched into a tight fist, and his one good eye barely blinked as it remained focused on the door.  Despite the steady rocking, his body was tight as a coiled spring, as if ready to launch itself at anything or anyone who dared enter the cell. 

While it was impossible to tell what Kirk was thinking, his stance and focus made one thing perfectly clear.  Whatever his captors had done to Commander Spock to leave him in such a fragile state, the captain was not going to allow them a chance to do any further harm.  Unless it was over his dead body.  Literally.

Rennick turned to Wesley.  “Commodore, I’m not sure what you expect me to see.  Granted Captain Kirk appears to be on edge, but that’s hardly surprising, given his circumstances.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

Rennick gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”

“Commander, how long do you estimate it took for the gas to render the other captives unconscious?”

“I’d say about thirty to forty seconds.  Pretty standard.”

“Thirty to forty seconds.  That’s plenty of time for you to end up with at least one dead body in there.  Maybe two.”

Rennick frowned.  “What are you talking about?  The gas is not lethal by any means and at any rate; both the captain and the commander’s exposure will be very limited.  So I fail to see how…”

“The effects of the gas have nothing to do with it.”  Wesley waved a hand at the monitor again.  “Look at Kirk.  He’s obviously at the end of his limits. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t even in his right mind at the moment.  But none of that matters to him.  All he’s focused on right now is protecting and defending Commander Spock.”

“That’s quite understandable, Commodore, however, it is not our intention to do either of them any harm.  Surely you know that.”

Wesley sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.  Frustration caused by too much caffeine and too little sleep.  God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he ate… 

“Yes, I know that.  The problem is,” he waved a hand at the screen “ _he_ doesn’t know that.  If you start pumping gas in there, I guarantee you he is not just going to meekly lie down and go to sleep.  Because this is Captain James T. Kirk we’re talking about here, a man who’s faced down more Klingons than you’ll probably ever meet in your lifetime.  He knows what they’re like, what they’re capable of doing.  Hell, I’m sure they’ve probably proven all that to him time and time again since he’s been here.  Right now he’s waiting for their next move.  He has no idea that we’re here and he’s about to be rescued.  So as soon as he becomes aware of the gas, he’s going to think it’s coming from the Klingons.  He’s also going to know that once the gas takes effect, it will leave both him and the commander completely helpless and at their captors’ mercy.  That’s something he’s _not_ going to accept.  Now as you said, it’s going to take thirty to forty seconds for the gas to do its job.  That’s plenty of time to for him to act.”

“And do what exactly?”

“Kill Commander Spock.”

The room suddenly went silent as Rennick’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that?”

“Because that’s the only way he can protect the commander from any further harm by the Klingons.  I have no doubt that given a choice, Kirk would prefer the commander die a relatively quick and painless death at his own hands rather than allow him to suffer even one more second of torture and abuse.”

Rennick stared at him for a long moment.  “You really think he’d do that.”

“Yes, I do.  Because I know something about those men that you don’t, Commander.  Something that makes all the difference here.  You see, those two are not just captain and first officer.  They’re bondmates.”

“Bondmates?”

“Yes, bondmates.  As in married.  As in till death do them part.  They share a connection unique to the commander’s heritage and that connection changes the game.  You see, you’re not just dealing with a captain taking on the responsibility of protecting a crewman under his command.  No, what you have here is kin to a wild animal, a very intelligent wild animal that will stop at nothing to protect its mate.  Including killing it if necessary.  Which is why I’m telling you that unless you want at least one dead Starfleet officer on your hands, you’d better find another way to get them out of there.”

After a pause, Rennick nodded.  “Okay, Commodore, what do you propose we do?”

Wesley didn’t hesitate.  “Well, considering the fact there’s no audio into the cell, someone will have to go in there.  Someone Kirk knows, someone he can trust.  Anyone else isn’t going to stand a chance.”            

“And that someone would be?”  By the look on Rennick’s face, it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Well, if he were here, I’d say Doctor Leonard McCoy.”  Rennick frowned in puzzlement and Wesley explained, “Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise and one of Kirk’s closest friends.  But since he isn’t, I guess I’ll have to do.”

“What do you mean, you’ll ‘have to do’?  Don’t you think Kirk trusts you?” 

“Under normal circumstances, I’d say yes.  But these are hardly normal.”  He took a deep breath and glanced at Rennick.  “Well, Commander, what’s your decision?  Do we play it my way or yours?”

Rennick’s eyes drifted back to the view screen for a moment before returning to Wesley’s.  “Yours.”

Weak with relief, Wesley sank into the nearest chair.  While he couldn’t be completely sure, something deep inside told him he had just averted a disaster.  He spared a quick glance at the screen.   _Hang on, Jim, just hang on.  It’ll all be over soon. I’m getting you out of there.  Both of you.  I promise._

“I don’t understand why I need all this.  It’s not like Kirk is armed to the teeth.  Hell, the man can barely stand up.”

“That may be the case, but I’m responsible for your safety as well as theirs.”  Rennick was busy fitting a small device in Wesley’s ear while one of his men strapped him into a security vest before slipping a phaser in his hand.  This time he made no complaint, but simply assured it was set on stun before clipping it to the vest.  While the feel of it gave him some measure of comfort, he had no intention of using it unless absolutely necessary.  Such as if Kirk tried to kill him.  Or Spock.  An emergency water pack completed the ensemble.

With the earpiece in place, Rennick stepped back.  “That should keep you in contact with us at all times, Commodore.”

“Right.” 

As Wesley adjusted the small device so it sat more comfortably in his ear, Rennick fixed him with a penetrating stare.  “Remember, Commodore, I’ve only agreed to this because you think it’s best.  But if and when something goes wrong, we start pumping the gas.  Understood?”

Wesley nodded.  Rennick then handed him a small key card.  “For the door.”  Wesley took it, noting the smudge of purple-brown that marred one corner.  Apparently its previous owner hadn’t given it up without a fight.      

One final glance at the screen, then he turned to Rennick.  “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good luck, Commodore.”

“Thanks.”  With nothing more to say, Wesley turned and began making his way to the prison below.  It was eerily quiet, with all the cells now empty save one.  As he approached it, his heart began to pound in response to the adrenaline now coursing through his body, sharpening his senses and putting his body on high alert. With nothing more to say, Wesley turned and began making his way to the prison below.

Once in front of the door, Wesley took a deep breath, praying that he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here.  For the two men he was about to encounter were not just fellow officers, they were friends and if his next actions resulted in doing more harm than good…

Well, there was only one way to find out. 

He leaned close to the door.  “Jim?  Jim, it’s Bob Wesley.  From the Lexington.  Remember me?  I just wanted to let you know that everything’s okay now.  You’re safe.  The commander’s safe.  It’s all over.”

He paused, listening intently, but heard nothing.  A voice crackled in his ear.  “No change, Commodore.  If he heard you, he’s not responding.”

“Thanks.  But from now on, I’d like to maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary.  I need to focus on what I’m doing and I can’t afford any distractions.”

“Agreed.  But only if nothing goes wrong.”

“Acknowledged.”  Wesley took another deep breath before pressing the key card against the magnetic lock.  There was a soft, barely discernible click as the lock released.

“Jim?  I’m going to open the door now.  I’ll take it nice and slow, okay?”

He carefully eased the door open, at the same time sinking to his knees so he would be on the same level as Kirk.  He shuffled forward into the cell and was immediately assailed by the combined odors of sweat, vomit, urine, and other bodily wastes.   From the corner of his eye he could make out a small pile of sodden rags, the main source of the stench.  An obvious attempt to improvise a toilet of sorts.  His eyes then focused on Kirk.

“Jim?  Jim, it’s okay.  It’s all over. You’re safe now. ”

The rocking stopped as a cold gaze fixed on his own.  Kirk remained absolutely motionless save for his free hand which flexed and knotted, so much so that fresh blood welled up from one damaged knuckle. 

It was then that Wesley realized the image on the view screen hadn’t done justice to the fierce intensity of one very focused, very determined, and _very_ protective James T. Kirk.  It was almost animalistic in nature and Wesley realized his inference to a wild creature guarding its mate wasn’t that far off after all.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck at the sight, yet at the same time his heart filled with sympathy for all this man had suffered.  For what they both had suffered.  Time for it to end.

“Jim?”  Wesley kept his voice low and even, as if speaking to a frightened, bewildered child rather than a seasoned starship captain.  “Jim, do you recognize me?  It’s Bob Wesley.  Your friend.  Everything’s okay now.  It’s all over.  The Klingons are gone.  You’re safe now, both of you.”

Kirk’s eyes never wavered from Wesley’s face, but they held no glimmer of warmth, no relief, no spark of recognition.  Then they traveled slightly downward and an angry rumble rose from his chest.

Wesley followed his gaze to the phaser strapped to his vest. _Oh.  Right_.

“Let me just get rid of this, okay?”  Slowly, carefully he removed the phaser and laid it down a few feet away from him.  “There, is that better?”

Once again no response save the eyes shifting back to meet his own.

Oh, well, maybe a peace offering would work.  He reached down and grabbed the water pack. He reached down and grabbed the water pack.  Again, careful to keep his movements slow, he held it out.  “Here, I’ve got something for you.”  He then started to crawl forward.

“Don’t.”  The rusty croak sounded nothing like Kirk’s voice.  “No one touches him.  No one.”

Wesley froze.  “All right, Jim.  Whatever you want.  I won’t come any closer without your permission, okay?”

He swallowed several times to remove the hard lump of emotion clogging his throat.  No amount of Starfleet training could prepare him; prepare _anyone,_ for something like this.  “I’m sorry it took so long to find you, Jim.  I’m sorry that you and Commander Spock had to suffer.  You didn’t deserve any of this, neither one of you.”

“Get back.”  With a thrust of his chin, Kirk indicated the hall just beyond the door.  “Against the wall.  Now.”

“All right.  But let me leave you with this first.”  Wesley carefully lay down the water pack before rising slightly and retreating, one awkward step at a time.  When he felt the wall against his back, he sank down on his haunches.  “Jim, please, I need you to look at me.  Really look at me.  You _know_ who I am.  Please, just look.”

It was at that moment that everything unraveled and Wesley suddenly understood what was about to happen.  What he’d allowed to happen.   _Stupid mistake. So stupid._

Both his Starfleet training and his instincts were shouting at him to _fight, defend yourself!_ , but he shoved them aside and just sat there, watching helplessly as Kirk suddenly surged forward in a blur of motion, murderous fury in his eyes.  Dimly Wesley realized someone was screaming in his ear.

He braced himself for the attack as Kirk threw himself forward, landing on his stomach and sliding into the open doorway.  Instantly he scooped up the phaser, rolled into a crouch, flipped the safety off, switched the setting to kill, and aimed it right between Wesley’s eyes.

It all happened so fast Wesley was sure that had he blinked, he would have missed the entire thing. 

For a brief pause, all was silent, the tension in the air surrounding both men like a heavy, cloying blanket.  Then Kirk let out a low, agonized moan as he curled up slightly, his right arm once again pressing tight against his side.  Sweat beaded on his brow as his breath came in harsh gasps, but neither the phaser nor the grim mask of cold determination slipped.

Despite the danger, Wesley’s chest heaved with relief.  Kirk could have easily attacked him, rendered him harmless, even killed him.  But he didn’t.   _He didn’t._

“For goodness sake, Jim, was that really necessary?  You scared me half to death.”

“And I thought Bob Wesley didn’t scare easily.”

“Well, you may have to reconsider that.”

“No, I don’t.”  Kirk straightened up slightly, settling back on his heels.  The phaser never wavered.  “Because whoever the hell you are, it’s not certainly not Bob Wesley.”

At first a chuckle rose in Wesley’s throat in the belief that Kirk was making a joke.  But one look in those steely hazel eyes told him his old friend was deadly serious.

A bead of sweat trickled down his spine.   _Shit._

He swallowed once, twice, willing his voice to be steady.  “But it is me, Jim.  I’ve got no reason to lie to you about that.”

Kirk snorted.  “Yeah, right.  Commodore Robert Wesley, one of Starfleet’s finest, somehow ends up in a hellhole of a prison cell, _by himself no less,_ single-handily trying to rescue two hostages right under the Klingons’ noses.  I may have been here awhile, but I’m not that far gone yet.”

"No, you’re not.  But you are missing a few facts.  One, I didn’t come here alone.  The Lexington is in orbit, ready and waiting to transport us out of here.  Two,” he pulled the small transmitter out of his ear and held it up.  “Starfleet’s finest special ops team is currently holed up in the main control room of this facility and its commander is on the other end of this device.  And three, you don’t have to worry about the Klingons who ran this place anymore because they’re either dead or incarcerated aboard my ship.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here all alone.  A Special Forces team would never allow that.  It goes against all protocol.”

Any concerns about Kirk’s mental state immediately vanished.  Clearly his mind was still as sharp as ever. 

“No kidding.  It took me a long time to persuade the commander to do just that.  He wanted to gas the room and bring the two of you out unconscious.”

Kirk’s eyes glittered with rage.  “It wouldn’t have worked. I’d have killed Spock myself before I’d let that happen.”

Wesley slumped against the wall, boneless with relief.  He’d been right.  Thank whatever gods in the universe, he’d been right and more importantly, Rennick had listened.

He nodded toward the back of the cell.  “How is he, Jim?”

There was a momentary pause, then, “Not good.  He…what those bastards did…” His lips pressed together in a thin line as he lifted his chin.  “But we were talking about you.”

“Okay, then.  What more do you want to know?”

“I want to know how you expect me to believe that you managed to convince the leader of a special ops team that it would be a good idea for you to come down here alone.  The man would have to be a total idiot.”

Wesley chuckled.  “Actually, he thinks I’m the idiot.  But seriously, Jim, I was pretty sure you’d do exactly what you told me you would once you became aware of the gas.  I couldn’t live with that.”  He threw a meaningful glance at the still form only partially visible to his eyes. Somehow during his successful rush to claim the phaser, Kirk had managed to keep his body directly between Wesley and the commander the entire time.  “And neither could you.”

He watched as Kirk followed his gaze, then the captain staggered to his feet.  He stumbled over to the water pack and glanced at Wesley.

Wesley nodded.  “Go ahead, Jim.  Help yourself.” 

Kirk’s eyes shifted back to the pack, studying it suspiciously.  He eventually removed the cap and gave the opening a wary sniff before taking a cautious swallow.  Apparently satisfied the contents were safe, he picked up the pack and headed toward the back of the cell.  Wesley moved to follow, only to be halted by the phaser once again pointed straight at him.

“Stay there.”

Wesley raised his hands and settled back.  He remained quiet and still as Kirk reached the commander’s side.  One hand reached down and gently stroked the filth-encrusted hair of his charge.  A tiny whimper rose as the blanket-covered form stirred slightly under his touch. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.  It’s just me.”  Kirk laid the phaser down, then slid a hand under the commander’s head, lifting it slightly.  At the same time, he brought the water pack to the commander’s lips.  “Here.  Can you drink some of this for me?”

The commander managed a few weak swallows before turning his head away. 

“Good, Spock.  Very good.  Now I want you to go back to sleep, okay?  I promise I’ll be right here.”

A weary nod, then Kirk gently laid the head back down before carefully tucking the blanket over the commander again. 

Wesley shifted his weight.  “Jim, he needs medical attention.  The sooner, the better.”

“ _Don’t you think I know that?!”_   Kirk whirled around, his eyes and voice filled with desperate anguish.  “But I have to be sure.”  It sounded as if his words were being dredged up from a dark and horrifying place.  “I can’t trust anything, not anymore, and I have to be absolutely sure.  Otherwise, I’m going to fail him.  And I can’t do that.  _I can’t!”_

Wesley had to blink back tears at the raw emotion emanating from his old friend.  What he must have gone through… “I understand, Jim.  Please believe me, I only want to help.  How can I help?”

Kirk fixed a searching gaze on him.  Then his eyes hardened once more.  He scooped up the phaser, rose to his feet, and stumbled back over to Wesley, who remained absolutely still as the phaser was once again pointed right between his eyes.

“So tell me, _Commodore,_ if what you said is true, where’s the team?  They must know by now things didn’t go exactly as planned.”

“That’s a good question.  I’d have thought for sure they would have charged in here a long time ago.”  He shrugged.  “Maybe they’re trying to put together another plan since with the door open, the gas won’t work and you haven’t exactly been a model of stability and cooperation.” He grinned.  “You’ve probably got them scared shitless.”

“You’re not scared.”

“Aren’t I?”  His grin faded.  “Frankly, Jim, I’m terrified.  But not for me.  For you. And for Spock.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

Wesley took that as a sign to continue.  “You’ve been through hell, Jim, the both of you.  You’re clearly traumatized and I don’t want to say or do anything that could send you round the bend.  All I want is to get both of you out of here so you can get the help you need.  But I can’t seem to convince you of that.  Tell me, Jim.  What do I need to do to convince you?  Let you pull that trigger?  Is that what it will take to prove I’m on your side?  Well then, go ahead.  Because at this point, I don’t know what else to do.”

A battle of wills played out across Kirk’s haggard features as Wesley’s words apparently struck home.  It was too painful to watch so Wesley lowered his head, his hands clenching his hair in frustration.  Yet he could still hear Kirk’s ragged breathing as if he were on the edge of exhaustion.  Which he probably was.

Enough of this.  He raised his head, his eyes meeting Kirk’s.  “For God’s sakes, Jim, sit down, will you?  You can barely stand and you can shoot me just as well off your feet as on.”       

Instead of following his suggestion, Kirk took one, two, three steps forward until the phaser was mere inches away from Wesley’s forehead.  Wesley flinched and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Bob.”

Wesley opened his eyes and nodded.  “I am too, Jim.”

“I had to be sure.  The Bob Wesley I know…”  Kirk’s voice broke and he cleared his throat, “…is a very patient man, as well as a good one.”  He clicked the safety on the phaser and tossed it away.

Wesley went weak with relief.  He would live.  They all would. 

He watched as Kirk turned and slid down the wall beside him.  The captain bent slightly forward, hand pressed against his side, and began breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. 

“My God, Bob, that was…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Jim.  I understand.”  Wesley wiped his brow with shaking fingers.  When he felt he could trust his legs again, he rose and picked up the small transmitter lying next to him.  He looked at Kirk, who nodded.  Wesley put the transmitter up to his ear.

“Commander Rennick?”

“Yes, Commodore.  How would you like us to proceed?”

Surprised he was apparently in command, Wesley nevertheless didn’t hesitate to start firing orders.  “Send the team in.  Make sure medical’s included.  The captain can make it out under his own power, but the commander’s going to need help.  Let the captain dictate how the commander is to be handled.  And under no circumstances are they to be separated.  Not even for a moment.  Understood?”

“Acknowledged, Commodore.  We’ll be there momentarily.”

Wesley lowered the earpiece and looked over at Kirk.  His old friend gave him a tiny smile, then rose to his feet and quickly made his way to the back of the cell.  As footsteps approached, Wesley watched silently as Kirk gathered his bondmate in his arms, tucking the dark head under his chin as soft words of reassurance and comfort poured from his lips. 

The sight lifted Wesley’s spirits.  It was okay.  Everything was going to be okay. 

***********************************************************

Four days later Wesley sat alone in his quarters, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for the open bottle of Scotch.  He poured a generous amount into his glass, ignoring the already full tumbler sitting just a few inches away.  He took a healthy swallow, then realizing what he was doing, set the glass down, making a silent vow not to pick it up again.  He was still on duty and while he wanted nothing more at this moment than to drink himself into oblivion, it was something he could ill afford to do.  Commanders of starships weren’t permitted to indulge in such behavior, on duty or off.  Not when there was a ship to run and lives under his command. 

Still, if there was ever an excuse to lose oneself in the haze of alcohol, he certainly had a good one.  The past hour and a half had been…difficult.  It was little wonder he needed something to calm his nerves, to blunt the horror of what he’d just heard…

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt ashamed.  He had no right, no right at all to feel sorry for himself.  He wasn’t the one who had to live through the horrific events related to him over the last 90 minutes or so.  No, any sympathy he felt belonged to the two Starfleet officers now recuperating onboard his ship.  For despite his initial optimism after rescuing the two men, it soon became clear that everything was not okay, was not going to be okay, at least not for a long time.  If ever.

He shifted slightly in his chair.  He was beginning to regret granting Kirk’s request for a debriefing, but the captain was adamant, stating he wanted it over and done with as soon as possible.  As to why, he’d kept that to himself and Wesley was not about to press the issue.  So it was that upon being released from Sickbay after two days recovery from what surprisingly were rather minor injuries (a few cracked ribs, extensive bruising, and mild dehydration), Kirk had shown up in Wesley’s quarters early this morning, practically demanding the debriefing be held “at your earliest convenience, Bob.  Preferably today, or at the latest, tomorrow.”  His tone brooked no argument and Wesley didn’t have the heart to give him one. 

As a result, he and Commander Rennick had just spent the last hour and a half listening and recording Kirk’s testimony as the captain sat, ignoring the full glass of Scotch at his elbow, and calmly related a tale of depravity and abuse, the likes of which Wesley had never heard before and never wanted to hear again.  It was hard enough picturing total strangers suffering such atrocities, harder still when the victims were two people he not only knew, but admired and respected, as well.

As to Commander Spock’s debriefing, based on the reports from Sickbay, that was going to have to wait.  Beamed aboard cradled in Kirk’s arms, the commander was immediately rushed to Sickbay, where he was listed in very critical condition.  Wesley once again brought up the initial assessment on his view screen, not that he was soon to forget what it contained:  severe head trauma, internal bleeding, a semi collapsed right lung, multiple mild to moderate lacerations over almost every portion of his body, first and second degree burns to his thighs, groin, and genitals, slight damage to the left kidney, broken jaw, broken right humerus and left ulna, dislocated left shoulder, left tibia shattered, right one fractured, both wrists broken, as well as three fingers on his right hand and two on his left, fractured pelvis, left femur with a hairline fracture (here his chief medical officer noted his surprise, considering the density of Vulcan bones, it must have taken a lot of effort even to do what was categorized as relatively minor damage to such a thick bone), numerous lacerations and bruising on the soles of both feet, septicemia, dehydration, malnutrition, and – Wesley shuddered – evidence of severe and sustained sexual abuse, with tearing of the anal canal, resulting in anal fistulas and perirectal abscesses.  Wesley shuddered

Wesley shook his head.  It was abundantly clear that the commander’s survival was nothing short of a miracle.  By all accounts, he should have been dead a long time ago.  Yet he _had_ survived, had somehow clung to life through all those months of torture and neglect and abuse.  Whether that was due to his bond with Kirk or sheer Vulcan stubbornness, no one would ever know.  Although Wesley speculated it was probably a good deal of both.

Still, according to his CMO’s subsequent report, survival did not assure recovery.  At least not complete recovery.  There was every possibility the commander would be subject to constant pain and limited mobility, quite likely for the rest of his life.  If that turned out to be the case, the commander’s days of starship duty were over.  He would have no option but to accept a ground assignment, if he even chose to remain in Starfleet. 

Yet there was no reason to give up hope.  At least not until the commander underwent a full evaluation by Doctors McCoy and M’Benga, along with several highly skilled Vulcan healers.  All were on Starbase 6, awaiting arrival of their patient.  At current speed, the Lexington should make orbit in about two weeks.  Perhaps then, once the commander was in much more knowledgeable hands, his prospects might not be so bleak after all.  They would just have to wait and see.    

Wesley gave himself a mental shake.  Whatever the future held for the commander, right now he needed to focus on the present.  Specifically the debriefing he’d just conducted and the steps he now had to take.  The first was to inform Starfleet the fate of Ambassador Freiden, the third occupant of the doomed shuttle mission.  According to Kirk, the ambassador’s fate was sealed not long after their capture.  Despite Kirk’s warning to keep his mouth shut, Freiden hadn’t lasted more than a couple of minutes into his first beating before sobbing out exactly who and what he was.  That was all it took.  With little use for diplomacy and even less for diplomats, the Klingons immediately stripped the ambassador naked and handed him over to the crew, to do with as they pleased.  Less than two weeks later, thanks to Commander Spock’s superior hearing and knowledge of Klingonese, they learned that the ambassador, on the verge of death after suffering near constant beatings and savage sexual assaults, had been stuffed into an airlock and released into the cold depths of space as if he were little more than a useless piece of refuse.   

That Kirk was spared the same fate was no surprise.  As a Starfleet officer, his knowledge of the Federation was of significant value to the Klingons, and that alone was enough to guarantee his survival.  It even explained why Kirk had emerged from his ordeal relatively unscathed.  Once again thanks to Commander Spock, they learned that orders from higher up had decreed the captain be left pretty much alone until said higher ups could get their hands on him.  Fortunately rescue came in time before that could happen.

As to the commander’s harsh treatment, that was somewhat of a mystery.  While he may not command a starship, his knowledge of Starfleet in some areas rivaled even Kirk’s.  Surely that would make him just as valuable a hostage, but for some reason the Klingons didn’t share that belief.  Of course there was always the possibility he was tortured in order to get Kirk to talk.  That theory was disproven; however, when Kirk revealed during his debriefing that the majority of the abuse the commander suffered took place after he’d been forcibly removed from the cell.  Left behind, Kirk could only sit and wait as the hours passed until the commander was returned to him, bruised, bloody, but thankfully awake and alert.  As Kirk pointed out, a slight tremor in his voice the only outward sign of his fight to maintain his composure, the Klingons would have been much more successful at getting him to cooperate if he’d been forced to witness his first officer, _his mate,_ being repeatedly beaten and raped.  Not that they would have succeeded, but still…

At that point Wesley nudged the glass of Scotch closer to Kirk, who ignored the gesture and continued to recount the nightmarish events of his captivity.  His gaze focused on the desk in front of him, he spoke of how even day after day of prolonged abuse, the commander, upon his eventual return, remained stoic and composed, never once complaining of the pain and discomfort he surely must have felt and simply thanking Kirk for his attempts to dress his wounds.  Not that there was much Kirk could do, as the only supplies they had were a small bowl of water and remnants of their clothing.  Still, they both took comfort in the fact that despite the harsh treatment, the commander remained in relatively good health.

Until one particular day.     

At first there was nothing to indicate this time would be any different from the others.  The same Klingons entered the cell, two of them subduing Kirk as the others dragged the commander away.  After the door slammed shut behind them, Kirk took his usual position nearby, crouching down against the wall to begin the long, anxious wait for his bondmate to return.  But as the hours lengthened and the door remained closed, Kirk realized something was very, very wrong.  Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and for the hundredth time examined the door, looking for any means to escape.  But there were none and he was forced to continue his vigil until finally, _finally,_ the door swung open and the commander was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.  Kirk got there barely in time to prevent the dark head from striking the hard surface and it was at that moment that he realized their situation had just gone from bad to worse. 

Whereas the commander had previously been returned both clothed and conscious, this time he’d been stripped bare, and lay limp and unresponsive in Kirk’s arms.  Kirk quickly gathered up the insensate form and carried it to the back of the cell, laying it gently down on the torn, dirty blanket that functioned as their bed.  As he’d done so many times before, Kirk set about cleaning and dressing the commander’s wounds as best he could, lips set in a grim line as he took note of the mixture of fresh green blood and drying semen once again staining the pale buttocks and inner thighs.  He then wrapped the Vulcan as best he could in the blanket, settling the dark head in his lap as he began yet another silent vigil, guarding his bondmate against anything that dare disturb his rest. 

Thus the pattern continued, day after day, week after week, until the commander grew so weak he apparently was no longer worth their captors’ time.  But by then the damage had been done and Kirk was left doing what little he could to keep the commander alive, hoping and praying “the calvary would show up before it was too late.”   _Which it very nearly was._ The unspoken words were still heard very clearly by the two other occupants of the room. 

It was at that point the debriefing ended and after thanking Wesley for the drink and then both Wesley and Rennick for their actions in carrying out “an efficient and successful rescue”, Kirk departed.  Rennick was not far behind and soon Wesley was left alone with his thoughts.  Thoughts that were now interrupted by the buzz at his door.

“Come in.”

The door slid open and his CMO, Richard Baumann, entered the room.  He approached the desk and tossed a small diskette on top.   “Update on Commander Spock’s condition.  You’ll need it for your report.”

“Thanks, Rick. Have a seat.”

The CMO sat down and eyed Kirk’s untouched glass of Scotch before giving Wesley a questioning look. 

Wesley waved a hand.  “Go ahead, he didn’t touch it.”

“No?”  Baumann picked up the glass and took a sip.  “That’s surprising.  Considering what he’s gone through, I’d expect he’d drain half the bottle.”

Wesley smirked.  “Well, you obviously don’t know James T. Kirk very well.” 

“I guess not.”

They enjoyed a few moments of companionable silence before Wesley leaned forward slightly, picking up the diskette.  He toyed with it for a moment, then glanced at Baumann.

"Rick…”

“Yeah, Bob?”

“How sure are you Commander Spock isn’t going to make a full recovery?”

Baumann shifted in his chair.  “Well, there’s no guarantee he won’t, but based on his injuries, I’d be surprised if he did.  Why do you ask?”

Wesley shrugged.  “It’s just…I’ve known Kirk a long time and I know how important his command is to him.  If you’re right about the commander, it means the end of any active service aboard a starship.  Being that Kirk is his bondmate, it would leave him with a difficult choice to make.  I guess I’d just rather he didn’t have to make it.”

“Well, there is a chance he won’t have to.”

“Yeah, but how good of a chance?”

“Maybe better than you think.”

Wesley gave him a puzzled look.  “What are you talking about?  You just said you’d be surprised if…”

“True, but the thing is, Bob, I keep going back to what happened when the commander first arrived in Sickbay.  Did you know that despite how critical he was at the time, we were able to stabilize him for surgery in less than twenty minutes?  Considering how bad off he was, that’s pretty amazing.  Granted some of it was due to the efforts of my medical staff, but it was his ability to regulate his metabolism that really made it possible.  How he was able to do so in his condition is beyond me.  Then there’s the fact that after ten plus hours of surgery, during which his heart stopped four times, once it was over, his pulse was strong and regular, and he was breathing on his own.  Never mind that he initially had, among other things, a collapsed lung.  Now you and I both know that Vulcans are pretty resilient, but that’s just unheard of. 

“In other words, Bob, his survival is nothing short of miraculous.In other words, Bob, his survival is nothing short of miraculous.  By all rights, he should be dead.  The fact that he isn’t tells me he’s not one to give up so easily.”

Despite the seriousness of the discussion, Wesley couldn’t help but grin.  “That’s not surprising, Rick.  Doctor McCoy always did say the commander was a stubborn cuss.”

“Yes, well, thank goodness for that.  It might go a long way in aiding his recovery.  Maybe even to the point where he proves me wrong.  At least I hope so.”

He knocked back the rest of his drink and rose.  “I better get back to my patient.  See you later, Bob.”

“Okay, Rick.  Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime, Bob.”

As Baumann departed, Wesley thought back on what he’d just heard.  Most of it was familiar, as he’d already read the same in Baumann’s initial report.  But it was his CMO’s comments now that gave him pause.  If Baumann was right, if the commander could use that incredible will to help heal the damage that had been done, then maybe, just maybe, they’d have their miracle after all.

************************************************************

Two weeks later, Wesley was making his way to the V.I.P. quarters, just down the corridor from his own.  Tomorrow the ship would arrive at Starbase 6 and deliver her two passengers to the medical staff on the base.  So tonight could very well be the last time he saw both men for awhile, if ever, although he fervently hoped that wasn’t the case.  Therefore, he wanted to say a personal good-bye now rather than wait until he saw them off the ship once they arrived at the base.        

Moments later he was standing in front of the two officers’ temporary quarters, buzzing for admittance.  There was no response, so he buzzed again, with the same result.  Obviously his two guests were elsewhere.  He turned to the com unit, flipping it on.  “Computer, give me the location of Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.”

“Captain Kirk and Commander Spock are in Observation Room 1A.”

No surprise there.  Long ago, by mutual consent of the crew, that particular observation room had become “for captain’s use only”.  It was small, cozy, and quiet, with a breathtaking panoramic view of the stars.  No doubt a helpful crewmember had tipped Kirk off to the same.  Not that Wesley could blame said crewmember, as it was a perfect place for the two recovering officers to enjoy a tranquil evening together.     

Then again, he should make that one recovering officer.  Kirk’s injuries had healed weeks ago, but the commander had only been released from Sickbay just two days prior.  Still, he’d made a remarkable recovery thus far, already ambulating independently and making good progress with the rest of his rehab.  Wesley was more and more confident each day they just might have their miracle after all.

As Wesley reached the observation room, the door slid silently open.  Somewhat surprised the privacy lock hadn’t been engaged, he quietly made his way down the short corridor before turning to enter the small room.  As he drew closer, he recognized Kirk’s voice droning steadily on, although he could not quite make out what his old friend was saying. 

He soon found out once he crossed into the room.  For on the small couch nearby lay the two former patients, now V.I.P. passengers on his ship.  Kirk had one arm wrapped around his first officer, holding him close while the other held a small data padd perched on top of the couch.  Kirk was dressed in standard issue sleepwear, while the commander was clad in a loose fitting robe.  A thermal blanket was draped over their legs and they looked relaxed and content, the quiet, peaceful atmosphere in the room broken only by Kirk’s soft voice as he read from the padd in his hand. 

As they were facing away from Wesley, he couldn’t be sure the two were aware of his presence.  Then again, with the commander’s Vulcan hearing…

“Come on in, Bob, but keep it down.  He’s asleep.” 

The words were spoken with no break in cadence or tone, so it took a moment for Wesley to realize they were directed at him.  Silently he made his way to a plush chair nearby, gratefully sinking into the soft fabric.  He then focused on Kirk, who, after his initial greeting, had turned his attention back to the padd.

“The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me.  Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island…”

 

 

Treasure Island.  Interesting choice.  Then again, he seemed to recall a long ago conversation over dinner with Kirk, wherein the captain had revealed he’d often tease his first officer about being a pirate at heart.  Somehow Wesley got the feeling this wasn’t the first time the two were reading that classic novel together.  Well, Kirk was reading, the commander apparently having yielded to the clarion call of sleep.

Wesley settled further into his chair and closed his eyes, letting the familiar words wash over and around him.  It reminded him of evenings spent years ago reading to his own daughter as she drifted off to sleep.  Of course she soon grew too old for such things, but at least the memories would always be there for them both to cherish and keep as time passed by.

If that wasn’t enough, then nothing was.

**********************************************************

Kirk emerged from the fresher and made his way into the darkened bedroom.  Smiling slightly at the blanket-covered lump in the middle of the bed, he moved over to the sliding glass door leading to the small balcony outside.  He gazed upward at the myriad of stars spread across the midnight sky.  Somewhere among all those points of light was the Lexington.  She had warped out of orbit several hours ago after dropping the two of them off on the Starbase.  The majority of that time had been spent at his bondmate’s side as Spock had been poked and prodded and examined by McCoy and the other various medical professionals and healers.  It was only after Kirk realized that Spock was on the edge of exhaustion that both he and McCoy called a halt to any further procedures.  The others had insisted that Spock remain in the hospital overnight, but Kirk, backed by McCoy, strenuously refused.  His bondmate had already spent enough time in the Lexington’s Sickbay and was now sufficiently recovered to the point where further hospitalization was no longer needed.  Thus after securing quarters on the base, Kirk had carried a semi-conscious Spock over the threshold and straight to the bedroom.  He wasn’t surprised that the Vulcan fell asleep even before Kirk had settled him onto the soft mattress and tucked him under the covers.  

Now, after a quick shower, Kirk was ready to join his bondmate.  But first, he sent a silent “thank you” out to Wesley for his actions back on Maranga IV.  His decision to enter that prison cell had gone beyond all safety protocols and common sense, and could have easily resulted in tragedy.  Yet he had chosen to do so anyway and that decision had saved not only Spock’s life, but possibly Kirk’s, as well.  For that, for Wesley’s loyalty and faith in his old friend, Kirk would forever be grateful.

A slight rustling behind him and he turned, smiling as a dark head emerged from the depths of the covers.  Brown eyes searched for and caught his own.  “Jim?”

“Right here, Spock.”  He moved over to the bed and lifted the covers.  He was just about to climb in when he paused, a slight frown crossing his features. 

“Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“What happened to your clothes?”  For indeed his bondmate was as naked as the day he was born.  That was definitely not the case when Kirk put him to bed.

A tiny shrug.  “Irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant to what?”

“To the activity we are about to engage in.”

“And what activity is that?”

An eyebrow rose.  “Given my state of undress, surely that would be obvious.”

Kirk grinned.  “It has been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Precisely eight months, three weeks, four days, and 10.5 hours ago.”

“In other words, the night before we left for Zaran II.”

“I believe I just said that.”

Kirk chuckled, then quickly stripping off his briefs, crawled in next to Spock, pressing his body close to his bondmate’s.  He leaned down and deposited a gentle kiss on those waiting lips, which eagerly clamped onto his own.  As the kiss deepened, warmth flared in his chest, quickly traveling to his groin.  He moaned, the sound lost in his bondmate’s mouth, and ran a hand through the thick, glossy hair, tugging at it gently as a hardness grew between his legs.  He thrust forward, bringing his hips in contact with Spock’s, only to grunt in surprise when two hands were suddenly on his chest, pushing him away.  He drew back, puzzled by the Vulcan’s obvious reluctance to continue what he himself had initiated just moments ago.  “Spock?  What’s wrong?”

The Vulcan turned away, curling up in a tight ball, his back to Kirk.  “I…my apologies…I thought…”

Kirk stared at him for a moment when suddenly it dawned.  “Too soon, isn’t it?”

A tiny nod.  “I thought I was prepared, but…I’m sorry, Jim.  I did not mean…”

“Hey, hey, none of that.”  Kirk reached down and once again began stroking the dark hair, knowing from past experience it never failed to soothe his bondmate.  As expected, the Vulcan soon relaxed under his touch.  “I understand, Spock.  When you’re ready, you’re ready.  Until then, I can wait.”

Spock rolled over onto his back, his eyes meeting Kirk’s.  “But you should not have to.  The physical aspects of our relationship are important to you.  For me to deny you the same…”

“Hold it right there, mister.  While I admit that I’m feeling a bit frustrated now that we’ve stopped, I’m certainly not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to just to satisfy some carnal desire of mine.  Especially after what those bastards did to you.”

“But they are not you, Jim.  Their touch was neither welcome nor desired.”

“I know that.  But there are some things you just can’t rationalize away, Spock, no matter how hard you try.  That includes what you went through every time they took you out of that cell.  Vulcan or no, you need time to heal from that.   And when you do, I’ll be waiting.ll be waiting.”

“And if I do not?”  There was a trace of fear deep down in those dark eyes.

Kirk smiled gently.  “You will.  You’re strong and you’re smart and most of all, you’re stubborn.  There’s no way you’re going to let this defeat you.”

“How can you be certain?”  There was an edge of doubt in that deep voice.

Kirk leaned down and brushed his lips against the tip of one pointed ear.  “Because I know my bondmate.  And I know he has the strength to get through anything.  Even this.”  He pulled away slightly.  “But in the meantime, there’s something I want you to promise me.”

“While there is a 98.5% probability I will do so, as you rarely take no for an answer, it would still be wise for you to voice your request before I agree to comply.”

Kirk smiled.  “98.5%, huh?  Nice to know the odds are in my favor.”  His expression grew serious again.  “What I want is for you to never, ever do anything you don’t want to do just for my benefit.  Especially when it comes to sex.  I mean it, Spock.  If you say no, then it’s no.  Because if you don’t, if you just give in to me regardless of how you feel, then I’m no better than those _animals_ that brutalized you.”

A hand reached out and caught his in a desperate grip.  “Jim, no, please do not say that.  You are everything they are not.  You could never…”

“Then promise me, Spock.  Promise you’ll put yourself first for a change.  Promise you won’t ever let me do something you don’t want me to do.  Can you do that for me?  Can you make that promise?”

The grip on his hand tightened.  “Yes, Jim.  I can.  And I will.”

“Good.”  Kirk shifted upward slightly so that Spock’s head could rest comfortably on his shoulder.  Taking the hint, Spock rolled over onto his side and nestled tight against him, still maintaining his hold on Kirk’s hand.  Kirk laid his chin on top of the dark head, breathing in the unique scent that was his bondmate.  He once again marveled at how this supposedly cold, unemotional being had allowed Kirk into his heart and mind so willingly, had embraced the concept that logic wasn’t always the answer, that at times it was okay to let go and give way to his human half and all that it entailed. 

But Spock was not the only one with lessons learned.  Kirk, who had always taken pride in his own fiery independence, on never relying on anyone other than himself to get what he wanted, was now very much dependent on this quiet, gentle pillar of strength cradled in his arms.  He and Spock were now fused to each other not only by their bond, but also by their mutual need for what each could give the other.  Logic balanced emotion balanced control balanced desire.  All of that, and more, blended together seamlessly to create a relationship like no other Kirk had ever experienced.  He had indeed found his soul-mate, if one were to believe in such a concept, and he was forever grateful to Wesley and all the others whose actions had assured the two of them could now look forward to a future together.  What that future held was still an unknown, with the possibility of Spock’s injuries resulting in a permanent grounding, but whatever the outcome, as long as they had each other, that was enough.  It would always be enough.  

His musings were interrupted when he realized that the body underneath his hands had yet to relax.  There was an underlying tension lingering in the thin frame and Kirk had no problem deducing its cause.  No doubt their conversation had stirred up some rather unpleasant memories and his bondmate was most likely wrestling with more than a little self-doubt, wondering if he could ever be to Kirk what he once was, and that the promise he made tonight was one which he would always have to keep.  But neither he nor Kirk held the answers to those questions and there were no platitudes Kirk could voice to reassure Spock that everything would be as it was before Manara.  Only time would determine what their future held, but as long as they faced it together, that was all that mattered.  As for the rest, Kirk could wait.  For as long as it took, he could wait.  They both could. 

Correction.  There was _one_ thing he could do right now to help ease his bondmate’s troubled mind.  It was a remedy from a childhood long since past, a gift passed down from his beloved grandmother to him, as her grandmother had passed it down to her.  It never failed to bring forth warm memories of childhood, of a time of innocence, happiness, peace, and comfort, surrounded by those who cared for, cherished, and protected him.  More, it had helped him maintain his sanity through so many difficult and trying times throughout his life.  It was there to sustain him when first his father, then his mother passed away, when he lost both his brother and his brother’s wife to those parasites on Deneva, and when Spock had come so perilously close to joining them.  It was there to help ground him when yet another crewmember died under his command, and most recently, it acted as a beacon, a shining ray of hope that he clung to each hellish day in that prison cell, giving him the strength and determination he so desperately needed as he fought to keep his bondmate alive.  It was also there to help celebrate Spock’s slow but steady recovery as he lay in the Lexington’s Sickbay, Kirk never far from his side. 

There was a time when Kirk had considered the possibility that someday he just might have a family.  After all, he was never foolish enough to believe that when he achieved his dream of becoming a starship captain, he would roam the stars forever.  Inevitably there would come a time when he would have to give up his command and settle for a ground assignment.  Such was the fate of all starship captains, provided they lived long enough to do so.  Kirk always thought that when that time came for him, as well, he just might marry and even have a child or two.  A child to whom he could pass down his grandmother’s gift and hopefully that child would do the same with his or her own children, thus insuring the gift would become a legacy for all proceeding generations of Kirks, providing a link to the past and a promise for the future.

But now he knew that was no longer a possibility.  His future, whatever it entailed, now lay with Spock and he could think of no one more deserving of such a gift, and no better time or place than right now to pass it on.  For perhaps, just perhaps, his grandmother’s gift could do for Spock what it had always done for him.

“Hey.”  He nudged the Vulcan, who looked up at him with a question in his eyes.  “Let go for a second, will you?”

Spock reluctantly complied, shuffling back a few inches.  Kirk pulled himself up until he was sitting against the headboard, tucking a pillow in between to cushion his back.  He patted his chest.  “Scoot up.”

Seconds later the Vulcan was plastered against him, one ear settled directly over his heart.  Kirk gathered him even closer, embracing his bondmate in a cocoon of love and warmth.  His lips brushed dark, silken hair as he closed his eyes, picturing his grandmother as she bestowed the gift upon him so long ago.  He began humming softly and as his confidence grew, he started to sing, gently rocking his bondmate back and forth in time to the beat of the old Irish lullaby, sung through the ages from one generation of his family to another:

 _Can you now hush your weeping?_ _All the wee lambs are sleeping._

 _Birdies are nestling, nestling together,_ _Dream Angus is hirpling over the heather._

 _Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell._ _Angus is here with dreams to sell._

 _Hush now my bairnie and sleep without fear._ _Dream Angus will bring you a dream, my dear._

 _Hark now the curlews crying, oh._ _Faint are the echoes dying, oh._

 _All the wee birds are now lying sleeping,_ _But my bonnie bairnie's weeping, weeping._

 _Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,_ _Angus is here with dreams to sell._

 _Hush now my bairnie, and sleep without fear,_ _Dream Angus will bring you a dream, my dear._

 _Sweet the laverock sings at morn,_ _heralding in the bright new dawn._

 _Wee lambs they curly down together,_ _Along with their ewies in the heather._

 _Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,_ _Angus is here with dreams to sell._

 _Hush now my bairnie and sleep without fear,_ _Dream Angus will bring you a dream, my dear._

 _Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,_ _Angus is here with dreams to sell._

 _Hush now my bairnie and sleep without fear,_ _Dream Angus will bring you a dream, my dear._

Surrounded by the sound, scent and touch of his bondmate, Spock slowly relaxed as he felt the vibrations of the song pass from Kirk’s body to his own.  As Kirk continued to sing and sway, his breath gently stirring the soft strands of Spock’s hair, something struck a chord deep inside his heart.  Not since infancy, when his mother sang to him in much the same manner, had Spock ever felt so safe and secure.  Not even the horrific memories of his imprisonment on Maranga IV were enough to disturb the peace and contentment the words of the ancient lullaby brought to his wounded soul.  The last of the tension slowly eased from his body, and any remaining anxieties and doubts about the future were laid to rest by the soothing melody and the promise it contained.  He slowly drifted off to sleep cradled in the arms of his bondmate, the only true home he had ever known.

 As Spock’s body grew limp against his own, Kirk continued to rock and sing as the lullaby once again worked its magic in the darkened room.  If ever he needed proof that this most precious memory of his past was now bringing peace to the present, it could be found in the slumbering form sheltered in his arms.  He interrupted the song for just a moment in order to gently kiss the tip of one pointed ear before looking up at the stars and whispering a silent _“thank you”._   From somewhere in the darkness, he could have sworn he heard a voice he’d never thought to hear again answer him with a quiet _“you’re welcome.”_  He smiled and began singing once again, and didn’t stop even as night gave way to dawn.

 And from somewhere far above, an old woman smiled and sang along.  

To hear the lullaby:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFtk3YVnix4


End file.
